“My apologies. I’m sure we should not be discussing . . . those.” “Never apologize for discussing those.” Another pause, and then he said, wicked and soft, “Are they pink?” Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t think I should tell you that.” He did not seem to care. “You like pink.” She’d never been so grateful for the shadows in her life. “I do.” “And so? Are they?” “Yes.” She could barely hear the whispered word. “Good.”
GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE
